Dead Spots (Scarlett Bernard #1)(25)

“Call first. Where are we going?”

“To cover some more bases. I want you to think about places where these Old World...um...people, hang out. Like that bar. And I want to show their pictures around, see if we can ID anybody. Then we’ll go see the vampire boss after dark.”

I groaned. “That’s not going to go over well.”

He shrugged, unrelenting. “That’s how it is sometimes.”

I swallowed another lecture about taking vampires seriously and being respectful—scratch that, afraid—of Dashiell. Maybe later.


I considered walking back to Molly’s, but ended up splurging on an overpriced cab. As soon as I got there, though, I realized there wasn’t anything I needed to be doing. I toyed with the idea of tackling my laundry or starting to work on the search for a new assistant, but I didn’t have the energy for either. Instead, I decided to wake up Molly. If she was going to question me or spy on me or whatever, I wanted to get it over with.

As I walked into her room, Molly gasped, her eyes flying open. Sometimes it’s like that. “Hey,” she said, running a hand through the tangles in her red hair. Vampire hair and fingernails grow. I don’t know why the magic works like that, but it does. Which is good for Molly, because she gets bored with her hair every three months or so. “You’re home! Ooh, it’s only three thirty, that’s so awesome. Want to go shopping? I was thinking I needed a new laptop bag.”

She seemed back to her usual peppy self, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding. I decided I didn’t really want to spend the day brooding about the possibility of another null being in town. “That sounds fine, if that’s what you want to do.”

“Really?” she squealed. “Let me just get dressed.” I had to stay in the room in order for this to happen, so I politely turned my back. She thinks that’s hilarious and told me so again.

I’ve seen a couple of reality TV shows where people—usually couples—are tied together and forced to stay within a few feet of each other. In real life, without the additional help of a rope (I’ve considered it, but even in LA, I think it’d look too weird), this is surprisingly hard to keep up. It’s so easy to forget and go off to the bathroom or wander a few feet away to look at something or answer your cell phone. By now, though, Molly and I had it down to an art form. We only screwed up once, early in our relationship, when we got separated in a crowd at the farmers’ market. Luckily, we were indoors, so when she collapsed, we just told everybody that she’d fainted. Close call.

We went to Westside Pavilion, and I followed Molly around Nordstrom’s for a while, ignoring her pleas to pick out a new wardrobe for me. Molly thinks my T-shirt-and-jeans look is gauche and trashy, and is constantly trying to use me as her own personal Barbie doll. I once pointed out that she wears T-shirts all the time, but she airily told me that her shirts and jeans were expensive, so it was okay. I don’t think there’s anything okay about paying $200 for jeans, but I’m crazy like that.

This is an argument we have a lot.

Molly eventually bought a pair of turquoise flats, which cost more than a community college education, and we went to the Apple store so she could get the laptop bag. Then we settled down in the cafeteria with Jamba Juices.

Molly took a big slurp, not disguising her enjoyment. “So what’s going on with you and the dog?” she asked cheerfully.

“Nice,” I said. Will and Dashiell seem to get along pretty well, or at least they’ve developed a good working relationship, but there’s not a lot of love lost between most vampires and werewolves, a conflict that the movies have actually gotten right. Both groups prefer each other to the damned witches, though, and I don’t blame them. “Nothing is going on, because nothing happened.”

“Really? Your mouth says no, but your eyes say yes.” Her own eyes sparkled, and I relaxed a little. It was as though the serious moment from that morning had never happened. Maybe I had just been paranoid about that after all. Maybe Molly had just been trying to be a good friend or something.

“You watch too much TV.”

“That may be true,” Molly said, “but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. Are you into him?”

“Nah,” I said. I explained about my suspicion that Eli just likes me for the calm I can give him, trying to be delicate so she wouldn’t think I was accusing her of the same. I made sure to downplay my connection to Eli, though, just in case she was reporting to Dashiell. Then I told her about Eli being chosen as my new “partner,” and she wrinkled her nose in sympathy.

“That sucks,” she said.

“Yeah.”

We were quiet for a while, and then Molly asked me about the investigation. “My friend Frederic says you’ve been running around with this cop, digging into Old World business. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

There it was. Looks like I hadn’t been paranoid after all. Her tone had been trying for lightness, but she wasn’t used to having to operate human emotions, and the intensity had leaked through.

I shrugged. “They can’t really hurt me.”

“Of course they can,” she said sensibly. “Being up against a normal human doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt; it just means they’ll have to use run-of-the-mill ways to kill you.”